


Baker Street Baristas

by Saud



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Asexual Irene Adler, F/F, F/M, Kissing, M/M, Petty crime Moriarty, Police, Public Display of Affection, everyone assumes John and Sherlock are just friends but they're dating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-04 13:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11555949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saud/pseuds/Saud
Summary: Sherlock and John work at a coffee shop owned by Mrs. Hudson and managed by Molly Hooper. No one believes Sherlock when he says that the manager of the Starbucks across the street, Jim Moriarty, is sabotaging their business.





	1. The New Employee

"I want you working in the back today," Molly Hooper says.

"Oh come on," Sherlock says, not looking up from his task of putting the espresso machine back together after taking it apart for seemingly no reason, "I won't scare this one off." _Unless he deserves it_ , he adds to himself.

"Really? Like you _didn't_ scare off the last two?"

"The first one was a thief and the second an insurgent sent by Moriarty."

"Oh would you come off it!" Molly says, glaring at Sherlock, "Just because Jim manages the Starbucks across the street doesn't mean he's some villain who wants us shut down."

"Doesn't it?" Sherlock says, raising his eyebrows at his reflection in the smooth surface of the espresso machine.

"He's my boyfriend. I'd think I'd know if he was trying to sabotage my business!"

"Molly, there are people who don't know that their boyfriends are murderers," Sherlock retorts, snapping the dial back onto the espresso machine. 

"Why Mrs. Hudson won't let me fire you I don't know," Molly says before puffing away. She doesn't mean it. Sherlock, with his ability to guess people's orders, is one of the few attractions of _Baker Street Tea_.

Just then the bell tinkles over the front door of the shop.

"Hello?" Says a timid voice.

"Hello there, John," Molly says in a sticky sweet voice she only uses with Sherlock when customers are around.

Molly and John shake hands.

"Hold on a moment and I'll get you your apron and name tag from the back," Molly says. She locks eyes with Sherlock as she passes him on her way to the back room. Before she can come out with John's apron and name tag, Sherlock makes his way to the other side of the counter and stops a few feet in front of the new employee.

"I would shake your hand, but I perceive you are averse to touch, from the way you flinched when Molly shook your hand," Sherlock explains. He tilts his head slightly to the left, looking down at John's cane. "No, not touch," he amends, "Sudden movements."

"Perceptive," John says. Then he smiles.

"Quite," Sherlock agrees.

John reaches out his hand -- his left hand, as his right is occupied with holding his cane. "John Watson," he says as Sherlock shakes his hand. John's grip is firm, his nails trimmed, palms moist.

"Sherlock Holmes. Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," John says, letting go of Sherlock's hand. His eyes flit up past Sherlock's shoulder. 

Molly.

"If you'll excuse me, I must be getting back to work."

"Of course," John says as Sherlock turns. Molly was standing right behind him. She is glaring at him. If she wasn't holding John's apron and name tag Sherlock is sure her arms would have been crossed.

"I didn't scare him off," Sherlock stage-whispers as he approaches her. Her face relaxes as he passes and she lets out a soft sigh. _At least there's that,_ she thinks to herself.


	2. A Lethal Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene Adler visits _Baker Street Tea_ for the first time.

John's first shift is going by smoothly. There's not as many customers as the  _McDonald's_ he got fired from two weeks ago for moving too slowly. Here the manager doesn't yell at him for moving slower than the other employees... employee singular as the case may be.

While he's standing at the till, nearly dozing off, a young man with tightly curled hair walks in.

"Are you Sherlock Holmes?" he asks John, eyes wide, smile beaming.

"No, that would be me," Sherlock says from behind John before he can answer.

"Can you guess my order?" the man asks. He's practically buzzing.

"How would you react if I told you I was gay?" Sherlock asks in return.

The man's smile falls and the energy coming off him in waves seems to ebb.

"Look, man. I have nothing _against_ gay people, I just don't want it shoved--"

"Double espresso, no flavour shot," Sherlock says and turns around to make it before the young man even confirms.

"Woah, cool! How did you know?"

 _You're pretty much a walking espresso yourself. I knew that you wouldn't want a flavour shot by your answer to my question, because it implies an underlying uncomfortably with homosexuality. As such you hyper-perform masculinity and would not want a flavour shot because they are perceived as feminine. And oh no, you wouldn't be content with just a single espresso. You need to prove to yourself that you can handle more. It's why your arms are hanging stiffly at your sides; you just came from the gym -- as evidenced by the sweat stains on your t-shirt and the gym bag slung over your shoulder -- where you just_ had _to load that extra weight onto the press._

"Just a hunch," Sherlock replies as he hands the man his drink.

The man pays with change and is gone out the front door just as quickly as he came.

"That was brilliant," John says as Sherlock deposits the change into the register, "How'd you do it?"

Sherlock repeats the string of logic back to John.

"Brilliant," John mutters to himself as Sherlock turns to go unpack boxes in the back.

Over the next hour John fills ten peoples' orders. He tries to guess each one to himself and fails every time but one.

"Your leg is hurting, why don't you go to the back and sit for a while?" Sherlock asks as he comes out from the back room.

"Oh no, I'm fine," John lies.

"You have a slight grimace on your face and are placing all of your weight on your left leg. Just sit for a few minutes. I can handle this horde of customers myself." He gestures at the empty line, five customers sitting scattered around the shop.

John wants to sit. His leg is aching, pain radiating outward from where he got shot only three months ago. After a moment of hesitation he agrees and shuffles stiffly to the back room. On a box next to one of the chairs around a small table there he sees a book, and, on top of the book, a piece of paper. He sits in the chair and after a minute his curiosity overcomes him. He picks up the black book and lifts the piece of paper off of it. The paper is a note written on the back of an invoice sheet. The note is addressed to him.

 

_John,_

_Don't come back out until you've finished chapter two._

_-SH._

 

John chuckles once and runs his hand over the strange circular inscription on the cover. He turns the book on its side and reads the spine.  _Robopocalypse_? He's never heard of it. It doesn't seem like something he would normally read. But he wants to read it, because Sherlock left it there for him.

* * *

After about ten minutes alone Sherlock sees a woman with black hair and bright red lipstick walk into the shop. She has a sweater zipped up over her black t-shirt. She strides over to the register.

"It's kind of ironic for someone who's asexual to be working at a sex shop, don't you think?" Sherlock says by way of greeting, softly so that none of the other customers can hear.

"What? How did you know?"

"That you work at the sex shop next door or that you're asexual?"

"Both," she says, one of the corners of her mouth lifting slightly, then falling so rapidly it could have been just a twitch.

"Well, as for the sex shop, I can see the outline of a name tag through your sweater. It's hot outside, so you're wearing the sweater to hide the logo on your shirt that betrays where you work. You aren't sweating much so I know you couldn't have worn the sweater far. There's only one potentially embarrassing place to work within a one block radius that has red in its logo -- which I can see partially poking through the top of your sweater -- the _Love Shop_ next door. And I know you're asexual because you're wearing two bracelets. One of them is composed of the colours of the asexual pride flag. Tell me, is Irene your name or the name of your partner?"

The woman looks down at the bracelet on her left wrist as if she had forgotten it was there. The name _Irene_ is engraved in a small plaque affixed to the bracelet.

"It's my name," she says, "my girlfriend's name is Elizabeth."

"Right. So what would you like to order? Something cold, I'd wager, seeing as the  _Love Shop_ doesn't have air-conditioning. Tell me, your medical alert bracelet, is it for an allergy?" She nods, her mouth hanging slightly open, "Of course.To milk, not to nuts. You had a peanut butter and jam sandwich for lunch, I can smell it faintly on your beath. After the jam you probably won't want anything with fruits, so a vanilla bean frap made with soy milk it is, then."

"Correct, wow."

"What size?"

"Small."

"Of course. You've never been here before and don't want to risk a larger size in case we suck."

She blushes slightly. After paying, she drops a quarter in the tip jar and sits at a table close to the counter.

He watches her take a sip. After she swallows, she turns to him and smiles.  _I guess we don't suck_. Sherlock wouldn't know. All he drinks is the plain coffee and espresso. Molly says he has a caffeine problem and limits him to three drinks a shift 'for his own good', she says. 

"How do you like the book so far?" Sherlock asks as he hears John's distinctive gait approach from behind.

"Can I borrow it?" John asks.

"Sure," Sherlock says, still staring at Irene. He sees her left hand go to her throat as she swallows repeatedly. She drops her drink and it falls on its side and rolls off the table.

"Oh no, I guess one of us should clean that up," John says.

Sherlock leaps around the counter and rushes to Irene.

"It's not  _that_ urgent. There's no need to run" John calls after Sherlock before he realizes something is wrong.

"Where's your epipen?" Sherlock shouts from in front of her.

She points towards the door.

Sherlock runs out of it and into the shop next door. The clerk behind the counter's eyes dart up from attaching pricing labels to boxes of red dildos.

"Where's Irene's bag?" Sherlock shouts at them.

They just stare at him, label-maker in hand, eyes wide and unblinking.

"She's having an allergic reaction. I need the epipen from her bag!"

The clerk raises their free hand and points to the storeroom in the back.

He darts into the room. There's two bags there. Which one is hers? One has a pride pin on it. Is that Irene's? No way to be sure. He opens them both. Reaching into the one with the pride pin he finds a wallet. Inside is the ID of the blue-haired clerk. Not Irene's. He slings the other bag, a purse, over his shoulder and sprints back to the coffee shop.

John is kneeling by the woman, his cane lying in the puddle of vanilla frap, a phone pressed to his ear.

Sherlock upends the purse, dumping its contents onto the floor

John is reading the information from her medical alert bracelet to a 9-1-1 operator.

"Her epipen? I don't know." John says.

Sherlock holds it up.

"Oh, here it is."

Sherlock begins to read the instructions but John yanks it from him with his free hand. He shifts the phone to his elbow and removes the blue cap in one swift, fluid motion, then jabs the orange end into Irene's thigh through her black pants.

A few seconds later Irene starts gasping in lungfuls of air, and John pulls the epipen away.

"Yes, I gave it to her. She can breathe now. How far are you away? Two minutes? Okay."

A little over three minutes later the ambulance arrives to take Irene to the hospital. After it pulls away Molly bursts in through the door.

"What happened?" she shouts. Not angry; frightened. "Is anyone hurt?"

"No, a customer had an allergic reaction, but she'll be fine," John says and Molly's face blanches.

"I know I put soy milk in her drink."

They both turn to Sherlock.

"She's allergic to dairy but I  _know_ I used soy milk."

"Maybe you made a mistake," John suggests.

"No, I didn't," Sherlock says.

"Maybe there was cross-contamination," Molly this time, "Like you accidentally mixed the drink in the dairy mixer instead of the non-dairy one. You have to be more careful. Let's hope she doesn't sue us."

"No, that's not it either!" Sherlock shouts. The few customers that weren't already staring at them before are now. "There's something going on here and I'm going to figure out what it is." He stalks off to the back and comes out a minute later with a mop and bucket.

John and Molly are on the ground, picking up the Irene's belongings and throwing them haphazardly into her purse.

Sherlock gets to work mopping. John gets up with a huff and makes his way back behind the counter and Molly leans against it, hands on her hips.

Just as Sherlock is finishing up mopping, the bell above the door chimes and Jim Moriarty walks in.

"Hey, Sherlock," he says, not yet seeing Molly.

"Moriarty," Sherlock replies, saying his name as if it were a curse.

"Honey!" Molly says, her voice sticky with it.

"Sweetie!" Moriarty goes over and pulls her into a hug, "I found your keys," he announces as he releases her, holding them out in front of her.

She snatches them from him.

"Oh my gosh! Thank you, Jim," she says, placing her free hand on his chest, "Mrs. Hudson was not pleased when I had to wake her up this morning to let me in. Where did you find them?"

"Under my bed. God knows how they got there."

Molly giggles as if what he'd said was a joke.

"Hey, while you're here, why don't we go out to lunch? Let me just go get my purse."

"Alright," Moriarty said, his smile faltering, but Molly doesn't notice; she's already turned away.

Sherlock sticks the mop back in the bucket then wheels it towards Moriarty, closer than necessary. He stops right next to him, their shoulders almost touching.

"I know it was you," Sherlock says without looking at him, then he wheels the bucket off towards the restroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: John is stranded at work by a sudden heavy rainstorm. Sherlock offers to let him wait it out in his flat above the shop.


	3. Rained In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of hours after Irene Adler is taken away by ambulance, a massive rain storm settles in, forcing _Baker Street Tea_ to close early, and John to take refuge in Sherlock's apartment.

After the fiasco with Irene being carted off to the emergency room, the shop is quiet. 

For a while.

Then comes the storm. It seems to John that the sky is a bright pale blue one moment, then, the next he looks, it is bathed in deep grey clouds, no end in sight. Thunder ripples through the air and John's heart starts to race. Rain starts to fall, light at first, then an insistent hammering against the windows. It's only 1 p.m. but it looks like evening. The street empties of people as they run to their cars or hail cabs.

One by one the customers of _Baker Street Tea_ order Ubers or dash to their cars until the shop is empty except for John and Sherlock.

Sherlock is sitting at one of the tables, leaning his chair precariously back. He lets it drop forward and gets up. He goes back behind the counter, brushing against John as he passes him on his way to the till. He enters the code and the cash tray opens. He takes a stack of bills out and starts counting them.

"Shouldn't we wait until we close to do that?" John asks.

Sherlock smirks and continues counting the bills, "You'll see."

He gets through all the paper money and has started on the coins when Molly bursts through the door, soaking wet despite the umbrella in her hand. 

"I'm thinking we should just close up early," Molly says, "We're not going to get any customers in this mess."

She stalks towards the bathroom, trailing wet footprints behind her.

Indeed it is a mess. The street is covered in a layer of swimming water. Few cars drive past, and the ones that do go at a crawl.

Sherlock turns and smiles at John -- as if to say 'You see?' -- then turns back and finishes counting the coins.

"You could wait out the storm at my apartment," Sherlock offers, "It's right above the shop."

"Oh no, I could't impose," John says.

"Good company is never an imposition," Sherlock retorts. He isn't smiling when he looks at John. He's serious, John realizes.

"Alright, then."

A moment later Molly comes out of the bathroom, her cardigan a bit drier and her wet hair pulled back into a pony tail.

"It's all here," Sherlock tells her, patting the neat (if thin) piles of cash.

"Alright," Molly says, "Put the coins back in the till. I'll roll them tomorrow. I'll take the cash to the safe. You two can go, I can close up by myself."

"Okay, Dr. Watson, let's go." Sherlock brushes past John again.

He waits for John to catch up, then pulls the front door open.

"How do you know I'm a doctor?" John shouts over the pouring rain as they both step into it.

"Well I knew you were some sort of trained medical professional by the way you responded with Irene today. Paramedic, nurse, doctor. I didn't know which one, I just got lucky," Sherlock says as they turn right, and approach a door composed of two glass panels separated by a horizontal metal bar. It opens to a small space with an intercom to the left and a locked door, similar to the first, ahead. The space is so tight that Sherlock's elbow hits John as he reaches into his pocket for his keys.

He unlocks the second door and pulls it open, leading John into a foyer lit by soft yellow light. A door to their right reads '221A'. Sherlock bounds up a set of stairs before John and stops at the top. He doesn't rush John. He just stands there until John gets to the top. Then he turns and unlocks a black door marked '221B'.

As Sherlock walks in, he flicks on a couple of lights, brighter than the ones in the foyer. John notices that Sherlock's living room is quite untidy. Not dirty, no, but things are lying about everywhere.

"Sorry for the mess," Sherlock says. He lifts a stack of loose papers from a chair by a fireplace and takes them to a another room. Coming back, he stacks three plates from the dining room table into his arms then drops them in the empty sink. There is a stack of folded clothes on the couch pushed up against the right wall, which Sherlock balances precariously in his arms. John wonders how he doesn't bump into anything, with that stack rising to the top of his head as he walks back into the room he'd taken the paper into.

He comes back out with a ball of crumpled up newspaper in his hands, which he tosses into the fireplace.

There's a stack of split logs to the left of the fireplace, by the window. Sherlock places one on either side of the paper ball, then stacks two more on top of them. He takes a book of matches from the cluttered mantelpiece above the fireplace -- _is that a real skull?!_ He lights one and drops it into the fire place. The newspaper curls up in orange flame and soon the logs are crackling with it.

"There," Sherlock says. He turns on his heel to face John at the other end of the room.

"You're shivering, John" Sherlock points out, his smile fading, "Come warm yourself up."

John hadn't noticed he was shivering until Sherlock pointed it out. Now he is particularly aware of his damp clothes clinging to his skin, his chattering teeth.

He walks towards the fire, his cane tapping against the hardwood floor then thumping against the carpet. He feels the warmth envelop him and the cold start to seep out of his bones.

He stops a few feet in front of the fire and turns to face Sherlock.

"Isn't that better?" Sherlock asks, his voice low.

"Yes," John agrees. His clothes already feel drier.

A moment passes in silence. Sherlock is looking at John and John has no clue what he's thinking.

"Hell of a day," John says.

"Indeed," Sherlock agrees, "I hope you're not expecting all your shifts to be that exciting, because they're usually quite boring."

John laughs, "No, I'd prefer boring, honestly."

"Hm," Sherlock says in response, "Why don't we sit?" he gestures at the two black chairs a little further back from the fireplace, set close together.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Sherlock asks as John lowers himself into the chair closest to the wall, the messenger back that's strung over his shoulder resting on his lap.

"Oh no, I'm fine," John says. He leans his cane against the side of the chair.

As Sherlock sits in the chair opposite, John notices the sound of rain splattering against the window behind him over the sound of the fire.

The chairs are so close that Sherlock's knees are nearly touching his.

"I heard when you told Moriarty you knew it was him. How do you know?" John asks, his curiosity overcoming him.

"Well I knew it wasn't me, so it  _had_ to be him," Sherlock says, "Who else stands to gain from us losing business because our coffee makes people sick, or worse? I knew I used the right container, the right mixer, so he must have put regular milk directly into the soy milk container. But what I couldn't figure out -- until he showed up, that is -- is  _how_ he had done it. How did he manage to get behind the counter and switch the milk in the mini fridge without anyone noticing? He's hardly ever in the shop, being a rival manager and all. But then today, when he came to return Molly's keys, I knew. He must have taken them last night, while she slept at his apartment, and used them to get into the shop and switch the soy milk out.

"But he's smart, he knew it was risky to take Molly's keys, to leave her alone at his apartment at night. What if she woke up and realized he wasn't there? How would he explain it? He needed to make a copy of her key in case he needed to sneak back into the shop. So he hid them. When she woke up to go to work she'd thought she'd misplaced them in his apartment. But really he was waiting for her to go to work, so he could get a duplicate key made. Then he pretended to 'find' them and came to drop them off to her, so he had a convenient excuse to check if his plan had yet taken effect. I bet Molly told him everything at lunch."

"Brilliant," John says, "How do we prove it?"

"We?" Sherlock asks, smirking. But before John can stammer a correction, Sherlock continues, "We know he's going to come tonight. I made sure of it when I told him I knew it was him. He'll want to cover his tracks, switch the milk back in case I try to use it as evidence. We'll wait until nightfall, that's when he'll come. He wouldn't want to risk being discovered in the daylight. Then we'll go to the bar across the street. It's the perfect stake-out spot, with a clear view of the front of the shop."

"Wow," John says, "I know I've said it far too much already, but you really are brilliant, you know that?"

"Please, you flatter me, John. You're a highly intelligent man yourself."

"That means a lot coming from you," John says.

John's eyes drift to Sherlock's lips, only for a second before they drift back up to his eyes.

"Intelligence is a nice quality to find in a man as handsome as yourself," Sherlock says.

John huffs out a short, breathy laugh and Sherlock sees his cheeks take on a pink tinge as he looks away.

Then, quite suddenly, he looks back up and locks his eyes with Sherlock's. There's a sharpness to them that wasn't there before.

"You think I'm handsome?" he asks, leaning forward ever so slightly, placing his hand softly on Sherlock's knee.

"Yes," Sherlock says, "As any sensible sighted person would agree." He can't help but lean forward a little too. 

And this time, when John looks at Sherlock's mouth, he drifts towards it and kisses Sherlock gently, like butterfly wings against his lips. Then, when Sherlock kisses him back, he kisses Sherlock firmly. When he pulls away Sherlock whispers, "You move awfully fast for someone who doesn't like sudden movements."

"I've been known to move faster," John whispers back.


	4. Reigned In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock set a plan in motion to catch Moriarty in the act.

At nine o'clock that night, just after the sun has set, John and Sherlock head down the stairs. The rain has stopped but awnings are still dripping and puddles obscure patches of the sidewalk.

The neon sign of the bar across the street gives the water a pink glow. John and Sherlock jaywalk across the street towards it. Sherlock pauses by its dark doorway, under the sign that says  _Woodie's_ and puts his hands on John's shoulders. "Last chance to back off," he says. He's smiling but John knows he's serious by the hard glint in his eyes.

"And let you have all the fun?"

Sherlock smiles wider and pushes the door to the bar open. "After you," he says.

The first thing John notices about the bar is that it's a gay bar. Two women sit at the counter. The bronze-skinned one with long brown hair rests her head against the shoulder of the pale one with short-cropped pink hair. Every couple he can see appears to be a same-sex couple.

Sherlock veers right, towards a table by the window that is occupied by three people.

"I'll buy you each a round if you'll let me have this table," Sherlock says.

The youngest person looks up. their hand around a glass with only the dregs of their beer left in it. "Really?" They say, "Sweet, okay."

They all get up and move to the counter. Sherlock follows and gets the bartender's attention.

"Hi, I'll be paying for these three's next round," Sherlock says. "Also, two pints please."

As he's waiting for the bartender to pour his drinks, a man sitting on the stool to his right asks to him in speech that is beginning to slur together "That man you came in with... Is he single?"

Sherlock scowls. "No," he says, even though he doesn't know  _what_ he and John are. Maybe John does still consider himself single.

The bartender hands him the two beers and Sherlock pays for his drinks and the round he'd agreed to buy. He walks back over to John. He sits on the opposite side of the rectangular table from John, both of them perpendicular to the window. From here they have a perfect view of the front of  _Baker Street Tea_.

Sherlock slides one of the pints across to table to John.

"Thanks," John says.

They drink their beers in silence as they both stare out the window, towards the darkened entrance to  _Baker Street Tea_. The bar's music isn't too loud but the beat is pounding. John is tapping his right foot along to it.

When John is halfway through his pint and Sherlock three-quarters of the way through his, Sherlock stands halfway up and points down the street.

"There," he says. At first John doesn't see anything, then he spots a shadow emerge from the space between two streetlamps on the opposite side. "You know what to do, John," Sherlock adds as he dashes from the table to the front door of the bar.

John dials a number on his phone.

"Hello," he says, "I'd like to report a suspected breaking-and-entering at the shop across from me."

Sherlock waits by the door, staring out of it until the shadowed figure is right in front of the tea shop. He dashes out as it is swallowed by the darkness of the entryway.

"Yes," John says into the phone, " _Baker Street Tea_."

As Sherlock bounds across the pavement he pulls a thin metal pipe from his coat pocket.

He crouches just out of view from the windows as he approaches the shop. He slips the pipe through the handle of the door and against the door-frame, so that the door cannot be pulled open from the inside.

He slips away from the shop and down the street a ways. Strobing lights fill the street a few minutes later. Sherlock hears the frantic clattering of the door as Moriarty tries to pull it open. He's still trying even as two police officers are already stepping out of their cars. The woman pulls the metal bar from the door and pushes it open. They both rush into the darkened shop. Minutes later they emerge with Moriarty handcuffed between them.

Sherlock walks towards them.

"Lestrade," Sherlock greets one of them.

"Should have known you'd have something to do with this," his partner says as she opens the back door of the car for Moriarty.

"Yes," Sherlock responds, "I was the one who trapped him in the shop with the metal bar. I'll come in tomorrow to make a statement about him. He'll have a key to the shop. You should call Molly Hooper for her statement. She'll confirm that he shouldn't. You should also contact whoever was working at the engraving shop at the mall this morning, they'll confirm that Moriarty was there getting a key copied."

Sherlock turns and walks back to _Woodie's_  without waiting for Lestrade or his partner to respond.

He and John finish their beers and head back to Sherlock's apartment.

John picks his bag up from the black chair beside the fireplace.

"This was was the most adventurous night I've had in ages," John says, smiling, "But I'm afraid I must be going."

"You could," Sherlock begins as John pulls his phone out to order an Uber, "stay the night."

John glances up from his phone. "I'd love to," he says.

"But," Sherlock supplies for him.

"But, I have my daughter this weekend. I have to go home and sleep."

"Ah," Sherlock says. _A daughter_. That's something he hadn't deduced, "Well I'll see you on Monday."

"I really did have a lovely time, Sherlock" John says.

To prove it he kisses Sherlock goodbye.


	5. Crashing Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is vindicated and is having trouble not rubbing it in peoples' faces.

Sherlock buys the local Saturday morning paper from the metal stand at the end of the street. He puts it atop his fridge until Monday at nine a.m., when the  _Love Shop_ opens. He takes it down and walks over to the  _Love Shop_ with it in his hands. The door beeps as he enters and he strides to the counter which Irene Adler is sitting behind, reading a paperback novel. She places it face-down and looks up at him. Her face screws up in an expression of mixed anger and confusion; teeth clenched and lips parted, eyebrows raised but eyes narrowed.

"What are you doing here?" she asks.

"Read this," he responds, placing the newspaper on the counter and tapping the front page with his index finger.

She crosses her arms and looks down at the paper, eyes roving left to right across it. She usually wears glasses, Sherlock notices by the way she squints while reading and the two pink indentations on either side of her nose. The cover of the novel beside her say 'Large Print' beneath the title.

"You should be getting a call from the police some time soon," Sherlock says as she looks back up a minute later. "I am sorry about what happened and I hope you don't hold any ill will against me."

"I can't believe someone would do this," she says, glancing back down at the paper, "he could have killed me."

"I can believe Moriarty would do it," Sherlock responds, "He would do anything to benefit himself."

"I hope he goes to jail for a long time," Irene says, her eyes hardening.

"As do I," Sherlock agrees. After a pause of a few seconds he continues, "How are you feeling?"

"A bit tired but otherwise fine," Irene says, "They kept me in the hospital for two days and I missed my Saturday shift."

"I want to make it up to you. Why don't you and your girlfriend come by my flat this weekend for tea with John and I."

"What happened isn't your fault," Irene says, some of the tension in her face relaxing, "You don't have to make it up to me." 

"No," Sherlock agrees, "but I think someone should."

Irene stares at him for a moment, her eyes locking on to his. "Alright then," she says, her red-painted lips turning up at the corners.

"I live in the apartment above  _Baker Street Tea_. How does Saturday at two work for you?"

"That works fine."

"Perfect!" Sherlock says. He leaves the paper behind as he turns and walks out the door, pausing to look at a giant red dildo on display. It looks like it would be painful, he thinks.

* * *

"You're late," John says as Sherlock walks in, but he's smiling.

There's more people in the shop than usual, and a line forming behind the register.

Sherlock shrugs on an apron. He and John settle into a rhythm. Sherlock takes the orders, sometimes guessing them, and John makes the drinks.

"Is it true you're the one who saved that woman's life?" a young woman asks John as he hands her her drink.

"Well, um--"

"Yes," Sherlock says for him, making him blush.

After they serve the five customers in the line there's a lull.

Sherlock puts his hand on John's arm.

"I was wondering if you wanted to have lunch with me and Irene and her girlfriend, Elizabeth this Saturday."

"Sure," John says without hesitation, turning to smile at Sherlock.

Just then Molly comes out of the bathroom. There are bags under her eyes.

"Glad to see you two are getting along. It's nice when your employees are friends," she says.

Sherlock scoffs out a laugh as he slides his hand down John's arm and away.

Molly's eyes narrow. "I know you want to tell me you told me so, so just say it and get it over with."

"I wasn't going to say that," Sherlock says, "I'm sure you feel bad enough already. I would just ask that you put more weight into my judgement in the future."

Molly sighs. "Fine," she says before stalking into the back room.

The rest of the day goes by smoothly. After closing up, John and Sherlock spend the evening together. John laughs more than he can remember laughing in years. Sherlock asks whether they're dating, and John says he supposes they are.

The next day, however, John shows up to work with a frown on his face.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asks when there's no one around.

"I'm being evicted," John says. His body is tense, as if he's doing everything he can to stop his composure from crashing down.


End file.
